It is sometimes difficult to know what to post or even whether to post. Frivolous or inconsequential subjects are just that; they don't really matter. But what about deep, personal, and wrenching issues? Posting on a public forum exposes your frailties and weaknesses to potentially the whole world. Even behind the mask of a pseudonym or anonymous name, one does not feel completely hidden. After all, many other posters know you quite well, even if you have never personally met. Indeed, some members probably feel closer to other members of our group than they do to close personal friends or acquaintances. But at what point do you draw the line? Can something be too personal? Or could it just be hubris, satisfying your own personal need for attention or acclaim? Some might genuinely need to express or release some of the anguish or grief or remorse or whatever other demon may be plaguing them. Most likely it is some combination of all the above; each case, and each person, is different.
My brother died last Tuesday.
It was not totally unexpected. His health had been poor for years, and he had recently suffered from some emotional issues which brought everything to a sudden and tragic end. We went up to see him in the hospital, where he was tethered to tubes and wires and instruments that all bordered on the grotesque. Unable to move, unable to speak, he nevertheless could understand all our words and could acknowledge our comments and questions with a slight hand movement, or a grimace, or an ever rarer smile. Unable to breathe without the aid of a mechanical machine, he was denied even the taste of his small request of a Pepsi. It just seemed so unusually cruel.
What do you say to someone who is dying? What words of comfort can exist to ease the enormous pain he was suffering, tempered only by the morphine administered every two hours. I found that every time I tried to say something, the words stuck in my throat and wouldn't come out. Finally, after everyone else had left the room, I finally got the spirit, or perhaps the courage, to say a few things. They seemed somewhat mundane, perhaps, but maybe that was what was required. I told him that I realized we had never had a fight, at least one that I can remember, with the small exception of him throwing the chess pieces at me when I finally beat him for the first time. I also told him I didn't blame him for anything that had happened, although there certainly could have been recrimination enough for all. I think he had been suffering some guilt lately, and I wanted to alleviate as much of his remorse as possible. I think I said a few other things but all I really remember when leaving is touching him on the shoulder and forearm (one of the few places he still had feeling) and told him "I'll catch up with you later." I believe we both knew what I meant.
After I left the room, I completely lost it. And as if by some magic, all the nurses, all the orderlies, everyone, had disappeared. No one was at the nurse's station, no one was in the hallways, not one person was to be seen. It was incredibly surreal. I walked around the corner to a small dead-end with a full length window that had a spectacular view south towards Mt. Ranier. It took me several minutes to regain my composure.
And with that, we left the hospital and left Seattle to start a new chapter in our lives.
